The First Morning
by Mistressdickens
Summary: The first morning of the Carsons lives together. A story inspired by a random thought on the London Underground that Charles never actually knew where the cancer Elsie (didn't) have actually was. This is what my romance addled brain produced to answer that thought.


**A/N: So, I had a thought on the London Underground. It suddenly occurred to me that it was highly likely that Charles didn't actually know where the cancer was that Elsie didn't have (that makes sense right?), and would have likely found out on his honeymoon. This is the result of that idle thought that honestly made me tear up whilst I rattled around the Northern Line. It's not necessary, but if you wanted to read 'Butterflies in the sitting room' to see my take on their last pre wedding meeting, it would give you a point of reference for one of my head canons. Also, this turns out to be my twentieth Downton fic …. But not my last. Oh no.**

The sunlight glinting through the slight gap in the curtains highlights a scene that is perfectly ordinary. There is a double bed and in that bed a couple lie. Their bodies are entwined and their breath rises and falls in unison. What could be more usual than that? True, both of the people are fully naked, which is perhaps a touch surprising given their age, and the wedding band that glints in the shard of light looks ever so new, but other than these small details, it is a perfectly normal scene. The sun spilling through the curtains of the Scarborough boarding house has welcomed many couples each morning and it sees no reason to treat this pair with any more tact than all the others. It is morning, they should be awake and delighting in what it, the sun, has to offer.

Elsie Carson, on the other hand, might wish that the sun was not so persistent on this particular morning, but now she has been awoken by the warmth moving slowly up her arm, she is glad of the opportunity to observe her sleeping husband with impunity. Even when she has caught him resting on the night of a ball, he has always been alert to the possibility of being needed.

This morning, he is in a deep slumber and he is totally relaxed. She thinks he is as handsome as he could ever be, and she is not immune to his charms generally. In sleep all trace of the butler is wiped away, leaving only the man who has given himself to her heart and soul, and she smiles as she acknowledges this private gift he gives her even without knowing it.

She shifts slight, intent on moving nearer to him and going back to sleep, but the action awakens her muscles and she is instantly reminded of her activity the previous night. She stills, wondering if her slight hiss of discomfort has disturbed him, but he sleeps on, leaving her to recall the events that have led to this moment.

They had left their reception in time to catch the 4 O'clock train to Scarborough, only to find upon their arrival at the station that it was running late. Mr Roper, the stationmaster, had kindly offered them his sitting room to wait in, silently suggesting they might appreciate the privacy, even though the platform was deserted – most of the village still being in the school house dancing up a storm.

Charles had ushered her inside, one hand on the small of her back, with all the ceremony of a court announcer, but once the door had closed behind them, the façade had dropped and all he had seemed capable of in that moment was a broad and devoted smile. The clock striking four had broken the spellbound moment and he had stepped towards her, clasping both her hands and bringing them level to his heart.

'Twenty four hours ago exactly, I was asking you inane questions just so I could be near you.'

She gave a light laugh, stepping slightly nearer to him. 'I remember. I also remember how that kiss to my cheek made me feel.'

She had blushed as she said it, and lying in bed reminiscing, she blushes again, even though she has done a great many other things since then to call those spots of colour into her cheeks. Her thoughts return to the station waiting room.

'I wanted to do more' he had spoken with a slight edge to his tone, something which resonated with sorrow at his missed chance and desire at the opportunity now presented to him and he stared at her, his eyes sweeping across her entire face, lingering on her lips, before seeking out her own eyes. His brow creased as he tried to figure out how to bridge this last gap. In the end he had appeared to decide that further explanation was unhelpful, simply asking 'May I?' as he detached one hand from hers and settled it on the back of her neck.

She couldn't have answered even if she had thought he needed permission, her husband remaining courteous even after he had gained the right to kiss her whenever he wished. The hand he had relinquished settled on the middle of his chest and her lips parted as if she would speak, but finding speech beyond her, her eyes tried to convey how very much he would be welcome. Silence was the most powerful signal that she desired the contact and she watched his eyes darken as he recognised her invitation.

His lips connected with hers without any further communication between them and almost immediately the pressure of his lips grew bolder than they ever had before and she felt the strange yet erotic sensation of his tongue touch her teeth and then sweep inside her mouth. He had not really tried such an action before, they had both been so aware of the crackling attraction between them and neither one had wanted to test it in a place where interruption was a normal part of their day. Now, they were married and no one would care – in fact certain people might even hope to find them in such an embrace – and they allowed themselves the freedom accordingly.

The hands still entwined became impatient to feel other things. Hers slipped up around his neck, whilst his found its way underneath her coat, skimming her waist before coming to rest on the buttons in the middle of her back. The pressure of his lips increased ever so slightly and she heard a moan echo deep in her throat as she pressed against him. She was fast losing her equilibrium and a small panic of whether her legs would continue to hold her up crept through her mind, even as she deepened embrace and tilted her head in a slightly different angle, so that his lips slid across hers with even more assurance. She wanted this, wanted him, so much and was relieved to discover that his passion had been restrained only because of its intensity. She moaned again as his hand clenched the fabric of her dress and his other skimmed the base of her neck, where his fingers had found the edge of her collar instinctively and now burned a trail as he caressed the small sliver of bare skin he found there.

Perhaps he was aware if the affect he was having, had become so attuned to her thoughts already that he could tell how weak her knees were. More likely, though, was that he felt the way her hand gripped his shoulder, tight in its urgency, and suspected she needed a moment to gather herself. His kisses slowed, and he began to draw back, although he could not stop himself from placing a few brief touches to her lips before taking one step back, his hand on her spine moving to brush her lip and the one which had so delightfully danced at the nape of her neck running the entire length of her arm before he entwined his fingers with hers.

Her eyes remained closed as the kiss ceased and she sought to bring her breathing under control, entirely unaware that with her lips slightly parted, her head tipped back and her chest rising and falling, she presented the most glorious image to her husband, who dearly hoped he would get to see more of that expression before the day was over.

'Beautiful' he said, smiling as her eyes snapped open at his compliment. 'And what is more Mrs Carson' he said, stepping backwards once more and lifting his arm, indicating she should twirl under it, which she did, laughing lightly at the frivolity, 'you look so very far from simply tidy. I told you that you would look wonderful.'

A shy smile, similar to the one she had graced him with the night she had assured him she wanted to marry him, lit up her face, but she was not able to maintain the eye contact of her adoring husband. She looked down at their entwined hands and twitched the sleeve of her coat.

'Ah, well, we've Mrs Patmore to thank for that. And her ladyship.'

He would have questioned the brief shadow which flicked across her face, but a knock at the door drew their attention, Mr Roper informing them that the train was just about to arrive. She stepped towards him, in that quiet authoritative way she had, and brushed his face with the tips of her fingers, then turned to open the door.

Outside, the train was just steaming on to the platform and they moved towards their carriage. A shout from behind then drew their attention.

'This way please, Mr and Mrs Carson'

Mr Roper waved them towards a first class carriage. They changed direction, sharing a bemused glance, but all was explained as they reached the door Mr Roper held open for them.

'With the compliments of the Dowager. And this was sent from Mrs Patmore.'

They were presented with a large picnic basket and as Elsie was handed into the carriage by her husband (who made sure to touch her hand, elbow and small of her back in the few seconds the action took) she let out a happy peal of laughter. 'If I've said it once, I've said it at least a dozen times these last few weeks – thank goodness for Beryl Patmore!'

Charles laughed with her as the train moved off, and then watched, fascinate, as his wife threw back the lid of the basket and devoured a scone with more relish and speed than he had ever seen. She caught his astonished look and gave a wry smile.

'Quite unladylike I know, but it just occurred to me that I've not had more than three cups of tea and a glass of punch since about this time yesterday!'

'I noticed you didn't eat much at the reception.'

'Well, I was too busy talking to everyone and trying to take every aspect of this remarkable day in. Miss Sybbie wouldn't stop talking either!'

'You mean to say we could have had nibbles in the great hall after all?'

'Charles Carson teasing – whatever next?!'

'I'll try not to make a habit of it. I could hardly eat anything this morning either. I hadn't thought I'd be so nervous, but anything more that toast seemed beyond me.'

'I'd like to say it was nerves that were the sole thing preventing me eating, but the encounter with her ladyship unsettled me more than anything.'

He had been rooting about the basket, unfolding napkins to spread over their laps and drawing out some tempting chicken sandwiches, but at her sorrow tinged words, he paused and turned towards her again, drawing her hand towards him, kissing the upturned palm before speaking.

'If there was a moment I wished to break with tradition it was seeing Mrs Patmore so distressed on your behalf. I could tell something had happened, but she was quite mysterious – not wanting to mention your dress, I suppose. It was torture not to be able to comfort you. Will you tell me what happened?'

So she did. Lying next to her new husband on this, the first sunny morning of her newly married life, she thinks back to how she had explained all about the misunderstanding (careful not to place too much blame on Lady Mary) and how it was resolved. Her fingers drift over his chest as she recalls how grieved he was to learn of the upset she had had to endure. He had been stern in his approval of how Lady Grantham had resolved the situation, especially when she had remarked that she didn't think she quite deserved the generosity of keeping the coat.

'Of course you do.' She had made to brush off his certainty, but he turned to face her, pulling out of the side by side embrace he had initiated so that it was easier to tell the painful story. 'Believe me, my love. You've spent over twenty years in their employ and have proved yourself indispensable. Lady Grantham knows your value. As do I.'

She had not disputed his words, even though the thought that his service mattered more flitted across her mind. She had not wanted to start a competition and indeed, it hardly signified, not when his arm was about her waist and he was drawing her to him so he could kiss her once more.

A light movement of his fingers on her hip attracts her attention. He is stirring slightly, and she realises she will have the privilege of watching him wake. This man, her husband, who has treated her so lovingly, revealed such a depth to his desire for her in the last twenty four hours that it leaves her breathless just to recall. The hand that has been resting on his chest drifts up to his cheek, skates over his left ear, on the far side of his face, brushes back a curl or two, before one finger glides down his nose. Her touch has been delicate, she is enthralled by her freedom to do this, but she wonders if he will be embarrassed by her study of his features. He had called her beautiful a number of times in their passionate embraces since they married, but she has not yet voiced the fact she finds him handsome.

She wants a little more time to drink him in. Her fingers hover at the end of his nose, uncertain of her next move. His lips are parted as he continues to sleep, although his breath is shallower than before, which suggests he will awaken soon. She doesn't know if she'll be brave enough to initiate contact when he is conscious of it, and she so wants to feel his lips with something other than her own. She musters her courage and lifts her forefinger to run over his full lower lip.

It is a little dry, and she can feel the ridges of it, the little bumps and crevices unique to him. It is so unbelievably intimate, however, that a small shiver of anticipation runs through her, even though he is asleep, quite unaware of what she is doing.

And, then, all of a sudden, he is awake. The first she knows of it is that the fingers in her hip flex, and then his lips purse and kiss the tip of her finger which is tracing both his lips now. His other hand catches her wrist as she makes to draw her finger away and she is mesmerised by the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips slightly before he places a kiss to the middle of her palm.

'Good morning, Mrs Carson.'

His eyes are wide open. She has missed the moment they fluttered out of sleep, but she cannot regret it, not with the way he is looking at her now. It is enough to rob her of the little breath she has. She had thought she had witnessed his full feelings the night before as he had fulfilled his vows and worshiped her, but it turns out he can feel more. The desire is there, certainly, darkening his gaze, but she sees so many other things as well. Happiness, delight and wonder all dance in the light of his pupils, but it is the few tears which gather at the edges that truly make her heart constrict. She is his, she did not refuse or abandon him, and he has awoken to find it all completely real. Her love is not a dream.

The tears spring into her own eyes as she lifts herself up slightly and leans towards him. 'Good morning, my love' she whispers, even as she kisses him. The sensations ignited by this embrace are keenly felt by both of them. It is not just the pleasure of the melding of their lips, but the feel of her breasts pressed tightly against his chest, flesh on flesh, no barrier between them, not anymore. It is the feel of his hand, moving from its position on her hip to her thigh, as his fingers brush along the skin and then linger over the inside of her knee. It is all of these things, and more, that overwhelm and entice their senses.

She is in the process of hooking her leg about his when he surprises her by turning her so that she is now flat on her back and he is leaning over her. He has managed it without breaking the kiss and so her surprised gasp goes straight into his mouth. His appreciative moan tells her how it must have affected him and she smiles a little into the kiss, even as his attentions warm her skin and cause certain parts of her to coil tightly with longing.

His lips have left hers now and his tongue is tracing her collarbone – a part of her body she has found he is particularly drawn to. He had murmured the night before something about the fact it was a part of her usually hidden by her high necklines. Another reason to thank Mrs Patmore she had thought, even as he had caused her to moan in delight and chased all cogent thought from her mind as he had sucked at the very base of her throat.

He is lavishing his attention on that area once more, even as his hands wander the rest of her body. Her mind is completely wiped blank of anything to say, except for the occasional 'oh Charles!' as he continues his adorations. She can do nothing but card her hands through his hair, placing kisses to the top of his head as she does so. Their lower limbs are impossibly tangled and she drifts a foot up his leg, delighting in the sensation as well as the spark of desire she feels as his penis twitches and hardens against her thigh as their embrace deepens. They are in no rush, however. They want each other, that much is certain, but the new delights they are experiencing, this waking and loving, are fulfilling in a wholly new way. There is a liberty to it all, and they both know there might not be proper opportunity for this leisurely adoration once the honeymoon is over. Let love take its time, at least for today.

They are attuned, it seems, to the desire for each other, for even as she starts to tug his head, so she can have the pleasure of his lips against hers once more, so he also appears to need the connection, and so their lips mesh against each other, slipping, sliding, nipping, for long languid minutes.

Time moves on, but she couldn't say how long they stay locked in that embrace before he pulls back and rest his head on his hand, elbow firmly planted in the bed and stares down at her, a smile lighting up his face. His free hand hovers over her body, occasionally coming to rest on her arm or her waist as he drinks her in. She sees a flash of mischief in his eye as he gazes at her and the cause of it becomes apparent when he speaks.

'I think you've misled me Elsie.'

She can hear the tease and so she does not allow the comment to ruffle her, merely matches his smile and asks 'how so?'

His hand glides over body, igniting sparks, so that she almost doesn't hear what he says as she delights in the sensations he inspires.

'Warts and all, you said, and there are none to be found.' She blushes and shakes her head that he should choose now to haunt her with that expression. His next words and action, however, cause her to still entirely.

'In fact, the only thing I've noticed is this', and his eyes leave hers and travel to her breast, his fingers tracing a small silvery scar on the side.

She cannot help the gasp that comes from somewhere deep inside her throat, but it has far more than desire laced into it. In fact, it sounds more like a sob and she knows he hears the difference for his eyes immediately return to hers.

'Ah' she says, surprised she can speak at all. 'That would be where Dr Clarkson …' her throat constricts with the memories of long ago so that she cannot complete her sentence, but she knows he understands as she sees his face cloud. In an instant he has rolled off her and sat up in the bed, the covers falling to his waist, and gathers her into his arms, so that she is half draped across his lap. His embrace is strong, powerful, and he rocks her slightly, pressing his lips to her forehead repeatedly. 'Oh Elsie' he breathes into her hair.

She is shocked by the swift change in their positions and the force of his emotions. for a moment, all she can do is cling to his shoulder and shush his fears away, even as she feels his tears drop into her neck. She leans back slightly, wiping away the tears which have lingered on his cheeks and smiles a little sadly as she whispers 'I thought you knew.'

He frowns briefly, the immediate question of his she knew he knew running through his mind, before it is replaced by an overwhelming desire to explain and discuss all the things they never said.

'I knew you were unwell and I got Mrs Patmore to confirm it might be cancer by allowing her to think I knew more than I did, but I never knew _where_ it was.

His hand moves to cup her breast, weighing it carefully in his palm, his thumb sweeping over the offending area repeatedly, but his eyes do not leave hers for a single moment. She continues to stroke his face as she feels his love sweep over her once more. She owes him an explanation even after all these years and all that has changed between them, perhaps because of the change. Her voice had faltered slightly when she had come to the 'in sickness and in health' part of her vows, had swooped low with the memory. She has not thought this would be how she would spend her first morning as a married woman, but even so, now the topic has arisen she will face it and try to explain.

'I honestly didn't mean to hurt you by not telling you Charles. I felt like a failure – I'd always been your equal in strength and there was my body, apparently attacking me. I didn't want to be a sick woman, a failure, in your eyes.'

The eyes she has been speaking of are full of tears, but he blinks them away, refusing to cry over something which did not come to pass. The hand cupping her breast sweeps up to grasp her chin, slowly tugging it towards him.

'You could never be a failure.' he whispers before capturing her lips in a searing kiss which says far more than he is verbally able to at this moment.

When they break apart, she does not draw back completely, resting her forehead against his for a few moments as she runs her hands over his broad shoulders and down his arms, losing herself in the delight of being able to be this close to him. She is still halfway across his lap, but makes no alteration to her position. He needs her this close, needs to feel her body, warm and willing in his arms. She needs it too, this reminder of all she has gained and all she could have lost. His love, it has been there for years, in one way or another, even when she wasn't looking for it.

She tucks her head into the crook of his neck and allows her right hand to come to rest on his chest. She can feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, just like him and it gives her courage to ask her next question.

'It was you who told her ladyship, wasn't it?'

'Yes', he whispers. His hand has gravitated back to her breast. He is caressing it tenderly, but his steady strokes are now awakening desire deep within her, leaving her slightly breathless. He has to know what he is inspiring, he must be able to hear her little gasps, especially as his other hand has curled round her hip and is stroking the top of her thigh, but they are in the midst of sharing a painful history and, like a confession, he wants to unburden the things which have haunted him.

'I don't deny I wasn't hurt that you wouldn't confide in me, but I didn't want that to prevent you having the support you deserved.'

'Don't think for one moment that you didn't help – you told me you were on my side, and that meant so much. Like I said then, she was very kind, and in the end her help mercifully wasn't needed. Dr Clarkson ran the test, which left that scar, and finally confirmed it wasn't cancer. He didn't remove the lump, said there was no need.'

She draws back to look at him and sees he understands what she is not saying. That it might still be there, but there is no need for concern. He nods his head, even as he stares at her breast, which last night he lavished with attention, loving it because it is a part of her. He still does, despite the anguish it has brought them both. He cannot repeat the attentions he lavished on her breast at this moment, not without moving her, and he cannot bear the loss of contact. He contents himself with kiss the top of her chest, where the swell of her breasts begin.

'I was so relieved. I couldn't tell you, but my heart sang with joy.'

'More than your heart Charles.' Her face lights up with a smile as she looks deep into his eyes and begins to sing. 'Dashing away with a smoothing iron ….'

'…. She stole my heart away.' he finishes, a look of awe on his face. 'You heard? What on earth must you have thought?'

'I thought that it might mean you loved me, which was all I needed. I already knew my feelings for you included love, I had since Haxby.' He nods, she has already confessed as much the night before. 'That was partly why I didn't tell you of my health scare. I didn't want you proclaiming something out of a misguided sense of duty. It doesn't make much sense now, but your total relief proved you might feel something for me as me, and not just as a sick woman. It gave me hope for the future. I might even have been brave enough to give you a sign of encouragement, but the loss of Lady Sybil and Mr Crawley rocked both our worlds completely. It didn't feel right to test you until that day at the beach.'

'Thank God for you Elsie' he says against her hair.

She is silent, a little exhausted from reliving all these emotions and is content to stay within the circle of his arms, stroking his chest and placing the odd kiss to his jaw line, but the feel of his hand on her thigh reminds her what the trip to the past has interrupted and she attempts to gracefully slip off his lap, in order to tempt him to return to his original position above her.

Her hip has other ideas, however, and makes an almighty crack as she moves. She flops back on the bed, laughter ringing out at her body's lack of co-operation.

'This is why old women never attempt to seduce the hero in those penny dreadful's!'

He turned on his side as she moved from his lap and has been watching her laugh, amusement in his eyes, but they grow serious at her words.

'You're not old Elsie. At least', he amends at her raised eyebrow, reminiscent of another conversation years ago, 'not in here'. He places a hand above her heart. His hand, which is so large, that his fingers manage to brush her nipple – something she is sure is deliberate.

'And what's this talk of seducing, Mrs Carson?'

'I thought you might need a little reminder.' she replies, drawing her foot up his leg and arching her back so that her breasts press against him. Her neck stretches too, bringing her face nearer to his, which is far too far away for her liking. 'Kiss me Charles.' she whispers. 'Make love with me.'

He hovers above her, delighted she has been bold enough to declare her desires, and looks deep into her eyes. He had intended to tease, to kiss every part of her face until she begs, but her irises have turned a deep, deep blue with the passion he is igniting within her and he is drawn towards her until all at once his lips crash down on hers and they are untied once more.

The sun, which has warmed this entire scene continues to shimmer about the room as the occupants share their longings. It glints off the bodies of the couple, their heated, fevered, actions, punctuated by moans and sighs and keening cries as they reach the climax of their passions.

The sun does not begrudge their inattention to its splendour, preoccupied as they are with each other. It will be around to shine through other pairs of curtains, to alert them to the start of many, many more mornings together. On this, the first united morning for this amorous couple, the sun is simply glad to add to the warmth.

 **A/N: I am not a doctor, and if I were, I would belong to the Julian Fellowes school of medicine. I'm assuming she didn't have an operation in canon, and therefore the lump might still be there, totally benign, but the cause of some alarm for Charles when he's not really attending. I was going to drone on about yearly exams or something, but they were too eager to get back to loving one another.**

 **I do so hope you liked this. A review or two would set me up forever!**


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